


Silence

by namosaga



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3
Genre: Eventual Fluff, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, F/M, Good Karma LW, Mute!Lone Wanderer, Rating May Change, Slow Burn, TAKING PROMPTS, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-05
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-05-24 23:39:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6171346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/namosaga/pseuds/namosaga
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Freedom. </p>
<p>It's something that comes naturally to all creatures. It is something that is craved, fought for, killed for, and lived for. Mel spends her life trying to help others since discovering her own freedom. Except, how do you help someone who doesn't quite understand what freedom is?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Alpha- The Beginning

Freedom.

Upon the first steps outside, unforgiving, blinding light shines down from the sky above. The sky- no longer stuck with a ceiling wherever she went, artificial light flickering with age. Though the sun is so much more powerful than the fabricated glow of the Vault. Eyes need adjusting.

Vault air was stale, recycled, as if breathing in plastic. It tasted like the metal of the walls, the tomb of the earth they were sealed in for a couple hundred years. Outside was fresh, untouched. It had dust, yes, but it was different. Air from here could have came from halfway around the world, untouched by anyone or anything. It wasn’t sanitized, but it was clean.

The first steps were shaky. Uneven. The terrain had drops, not steps. Earth was hard in some places, soft in others, and it took time to relearn all these new steps. It was not unyielding like the metal of the Vault. It could be pushed around with a foot, gathered into a hand to cascade down in a sandy waterfall back down. It was different.

But the Wasteland is not your friend.

Within minutes danger had gathered all around. Lanky, snarling beasts bared their teeth and rushed for the throat with intent to kill. Flying insects launched projectiles, seemingly endless, into their target and continued pursuit long after the battle begun. Raiders, men and women who found a demented exhilaration in the slow butchering of life, who carried spikes and intimidation as their only armor, rushed forward with any weapons they could find in an attempt to torture. They gathered in every place that seemed like shelter. Those weren’t the only beasts. These were the least of anyone’s worries.

Luckily, if heading in the right direction, not all hope was lost.

In the midst of discord and death, there are towns and settlements where people, most of them honest, try to survive without losing their humanity. Megaton, a town of metal built around a bomb, welcomes those who are willing to obey the law. Of a quirky shopkeeper with many off-the-wall ideals, a doctor who tolerates no bullshit, and a barkeeper who keeps his malicious actions legal, this is the first town one usually steps in.

The problem is, to fit into a town- to survive- you have to be able to communicate.

The more she stayed in town, the more suspicion was aroused. The doctor took no time to look at her wounds unless she was almost dead, taking her silence for disrespect, while the sheriff spent more time around her, taking her silence as insurrection and trouble. Meanwhile the quirky shopkeeper took her as a spectacle, a code to be broken; here she tended to avoid, as she refused to be put onto display as a thing. As much as the slave-server was kind, the barkeeper almost killed her for her silence, finding it irritating and a waste of his time. But after that he ignored her. As did everyone else, over time.

Even with all its imperfections, the Vault understood her. Mel. From a young age, when she ran down the halls with short ginger curls bouncing on her head, when green eyes took in everything in wonder and unyielding curiosity, smiles and laughter on a silent tongue, she never had a problem. When something needed to be said, light hands would flutter and dance into shapes, symbols, meaning. Words were never needed in such a stale, metal world.

Freedom was never quite so lonely.

It was never a freedom she quite asked for. Her father ran out of the metal tomb without warning one day. She never would have known if the flaring red lights, the blaring alarms, or her friend Amata hadn’t told her. Then she was given her choice: leave, or die. So she left with a heavy heart, but a goal in mind. She had to find her father.

If she could not ask this town for help in finding her father, then she had little reason to stay. She wandered in the area around the town to find supplies-- narrowly escaping death in the Super-Duper Mart, getting cornered often in the Springvale school, being sneaked up on by mole rats. Her gun had never done her well. Her aim was off, she often ran out of ammo, and even with everything she managed to sell she never could afford all the ammo she needed. So she tended to stick to more traditional methods of hunting, so to speak. Sticking to the shadows as if they were her mother’s warm embrace, walking, crouching, towards the enemy with a knife drawn. A quick strike to the jugular made for a quiet death to keep the others around unaware. It wasn’t always successful, especially not in the beginning. She had to learn what worked and what didn’t, and learn to think fast when under the assault of gunfire. These were costly mistakes, in time, caps, and near-death experiences.

This is how all of her travels went, for a few months now. Equipped with gear, more to protect her from the elements than to protect her from bullets, and trusty knife in hand. She never entered a town for long- only to sell, buy whatever she could communicate for, rest, and leave again. It could be lonely, she figured, but she began to love the newfound freedom. There was a yearning for the open sky, the wide open spaces. She could do so much, learn so much, and it seemed never ending. The more she spent away from her- the- Vault, the more she saw it as a cage. She refused to live in a cage.

None-the-less, not all of her attempts at staying in one piece are always successful.

 --------------------

Her heart was beating fast, echoing in both her chest and her ears. Her breath was coming out in pants, lungs heavy and thirsty for more oxygen. Bark brown boots hammered against the rugged terrain, legs carrying her as far as she could manage. Behind her were the angry roars of giant green monstrosities. Eyesores rippled with muscle, smelled of blood and death, both unintelligent and unrelenting. Heavy gunfire of assault rifles and miniguns sounded right behind her, along with the resounding _thud, thud, thud_ of the melee Super Mutants chasing after her with nail boards and rebar clubs.

_Shit_ , the voice in her mind echoed. All she tried to do was sneak around them, stay out of their sight from the moment she exited the metro. Knives did nothing against these behemoths. Explosives only made them mad unless you had them well-placed, or had enough to take down a whole herd of them. She had neither. Who knew that as dumb as they were, they were pretty good at finding their targets?

“I’m going to eat your arms when you’re dead, human!” the one of the monstrous things yelled, the steps sounding closer.  
  
Mel took a second as she ran to reach a hand into the pouches at her waist, pulling out one of the two remaining grenades she had left. Without hesitation she pulled out the safety pin and dropped it behind her, hoping it would slow them down. Seconds passed before the explosion could be heard, the heat of it felt against her back, and the howl of wounded super mutants behind her. She took a second to look.  
  
An unfortunate one took most of the damage as it fell, defeated. But two or three more were starting to recover from their daze. _Shit_.

Once again she began to flee, running as fast as her legs could carry her. But that second of hesitation killed her momentum, the constricting pain in her chest and legs making itself known. She wouldn’t be able to outrun these beasts for much longer. She needed to find a place to hide or she was dead. But she was surrounded by collapsed ruins, buildings completely inaccessible. So when one showed up on her right, stone faces hanging on the wall and opening completely unobstructed, she took no time to change course and run right through those double doors.

Inside Mel leaned against the double doors, as if trying to keep it closed, her breaths coming in quick and deep to take care of her body’s oxygen deficit. She ran a hand through sweaty ginger curls, limbs becoming shaky with fatigue and fading adrenaline. But she wasn’t quite safe yet, not for sure. If the super mutants were still in pursuit, if they were smart enough to continue that is, it would take seconds for them to break down the door. And if this really was one of the only places available as shelter, that meant that she couldn’t be the only one. There could be raiders, which was unlikely with the mutants but still a probability, desperate wanderers, or even feral ghouls around the area. And with only a knife, one more grenade, and fatigued muscles she would be dead in minutes.

Slowly she got up from leaning against the door, walking around the circular desk in the center of the room and heading forward. Must have been some sort of museum she was in, she figured, looking at the fallen skeleton of some ancient creature on her right, and the fuzzy beast on her left. Ahead was an interesting sight, a door surrounded by a giant skull. _Underworld_ , the ginger read, slightly curious.

Mel weighed her options. This could be shelter, or this could be death waiting for her. Her hand reached down underneath her overcoat, hovering over her explosives pouch. If it was home to hostiles she could use the explosion as cover as she ran. If it was empty, though, the extra wall between her and the outside dangers would be more than worth the risk. She took a deep breath and opened the door, not expecting what was beyond that door.

“Oh, well would you look at that? We got us a smoothskin visitor!” a gravelly, worn voice spoke up as soon as she entered the area. Ghouls were everywhere, wearing all sorts of wanderer’s or pre-war clothing. They were chatting amongst themselves, for the most part, until the one who spoke caught their attention. “Hoooeeee, we ain’t seen one of your type in a long time.”  
  
Mel dropped her guard, hand lowering from the explosives pocket. Her eyebrows drew inward and furrowed, lips moving into a straight line, and nose scrunched up. She took a second to take it all in, before lifting one of her hands and gesturing to the entire place in a quizzical manner. He seemed to understand.   
  
“You’re in Underworld, smoothskin. It’s the only safe place for we ghouls here in D.C. We’re here, out of sight and out of mind. The mutants leave us alone, and the slavers usually don’t come this far into the city, so it’s not bad.” That was good. So she would be safe here from the mutants, chances were. Mel nodded, glad he was willing to stand and give her the whole introduction.   
  
With only a warning not to shoot up the place, Mel continued on her way to explore the new town, if one could call it that. It seemed simple enough. Downstairs was the shop, where with a few bits of pointing and writing she was able to gather some more explosives, medicine, and food. There was also a medical room, but with a name such as the Chop Shop, she figured it would be better to just rest and let her wounds heal on their own. Upstairs was the inn, where she managed to get a bed for the night.

“It’s so nice to see a new face around here,” the sweetheart behind the counter, Carol, told the newcomer as she started getting out the caps needed to pay for the room. “It’s been so long since we’ve had a visitor. Tell me, you travel a lot, right?” That earned her a nod. “Have you ever come across anyone named Gob, by any chance?”

  
Gob. That seemed familiar enough. Yes, she had come across him once or twice during her time in Megaton. She nodded, watching with a small upward tug of her lips as the ghoul’s face lit up. “Oh! That is wonderful! Gob is my son. Well, not really, not like you would think of a son. We ghouls don’t really work that way. but I love him like he is my own. How is he doing?”  
  
She took a second to nod and give her a thumbs up. He was doing fine, as far as she could tell. Well, despite the fact that he was practically a slave in Moriarty’s cruel hands, but she would never tell a mother that. Besides, she would free him soon enough, when she figured how to remove Moriarty from his reign without suspicion. Upon another pause she made her hands into fists, palms down, using her right wrist to tap her left. Then she took her right fist, thumb sticking out this time and palm sticking out, tapping the side of her lips with her thumb. Gob was working at a bar.   
  
“Oh! That is wonderful news! I’m so glad.” Mel’s eyebrows went up slightly in alarm, her mouth almost hanging open. “Don’t look at me like that. I’ve learned my fair share of sign before the war. Of course, it’s been over two hundred years. I’m quite rusty with it.” Carol chuckled, amused by the smoothskin’s behavior. “Still, if you see him, please tell him that his mother misses him and loves him and that I hope he’s happy.”   
  
Mel wasn’t sure about the happiness part, but she would definitely deliver the message. If she could. Maybe she would ask Carol about writing letters to Gob instead. That would go over much more smoothly than trying to deliver a message orally. With a flat hand moving from her chin outwards, in a ‘thank you,’ the ginger left the sweet innkeeper to her duties.

Now, after running for her life and another near-death experience, sleep would normally be the first thing on Mel’s mind. But after all this, she needed a vodka and Nuka if she could get one. So she headed across the way to the Ninth Circle, according to the sign beside the door. Tables covered the inside of the room, places for drunken patrons to sit, while the floor was littered with paper and old-world stains. She sat at one of the front stools, next to the radio as it sang sweet music, only half-listening when the bartender spoke up.

“Well, lookee here,” the ghoul on the other side of the bar spoke began, his voice gravelly and his breathing heavy as if missing half a lung. Who knew? Maybe he was. “A smoothskin I ain’t ever seen before. What do you want to drink, smoothskin?”

She pointed at one of the bottles on the shelf behind him, along with the bottle of Nuka Cola on the shelf below. He seemed to get the message, preparing the drink. Meanwhile, Mel took the time to look around the area, seeing customers talk to each other, laugh, get mad, or just tumble around drunk. Well, except for one guy. Some ghoul in the corner, extremely tall and straight-faced. When the drink was placed in front of her, she pointed a thumb behind her at the out-of-place character, raising an eyebrow and shifting her mouth to the side.  
  
“That’s Charon. Let’s just say... well, he’s a loyal employee. Don’t mess with me, and he won’t mess with you,” he watched as she took a sip, but the question didn’t escape her face. Instead she tilted her head slightly, as if asking for him to elaborate. “I hold his contract, which makes me his employer. He will do what I ask, when I ask, without question. You see, he grew up around an interesting group of individuals. They, well, I guess you could say they brainwashed him. He is absolutely loyal to whoever holds his contract. Unfailing, unflinching, until the day that employment ends.”   
  
Something about that statement caused Mel’s mind to wander as she took a few more sips of her beverage. Doing someone else’s bidding without question, it sounded sick. The fact that he, the silent one, works for this ghoul in front of her probably meant he didn’t do much outside of this building. He probably stood there, only moving when a customer got too loud or too violent. ‘employment’ or not, he was a slave.

Besides, with someone like him on her side, making it through the wasteland would be so much easier.

Maybe it was the drink in her system, but she reached over by the radio to grab one of the pencils, and reached for one of the ruined papers on the ground, beginning to scribble in hasty handwriting. It was then she got the barkeeper’s attention.  
  
_How much is this contract worth to you?_

“He is a highly valuable asset to me and the Ninth Circle, you know. What do you have in mind?” The ghoul looked at her with a straight face.  
  
_1000 caps._ It was a lot, but she could afford it.   
  
“I’m afraid that won’t do,” the barkeeper didn’t even blink.   
  
A frown found its way on Mel’s face. Could she really afford going any higher? She barely had 2000 on her, and that was from months of scavenging and selling repaired junk. Still, this wasn’t about buying a person. This was about removing them from ‘employment’, buying their will back. She focused on the paper she wrote on.

_2000 caps, then. Final offer._

“I suppose that could work. Yes... Here’s the contract, and I will take my payment in full,” He grinned smugly. The ginger dug through her bag for the 2000 caps she owed, almost regretfully. Almost. Once satisfied with payment, he handed her the contract. An old, worn paper with ink long since faded. “I’ll give you the pleasure of informing Charon yourself.”

Mel stood from her spot at the bar, heading over to the guy, Charon, in the corner. He opened his mouth to speak, probably to tell her that she was not welcome to talk to him, but her holding the contract for him to see made him think otherwise. “You purchased the contract from Ahzrukhal? So I am no longer in his service. That is good to know,” Clouded blue eyes shifted to the barkeeper with a blank expression. “Please, wait here. I must take care of something.”

Charon calmly walked over to the other side of the room, where Ahzrukhal began cleaning the used glasses. The latter looked up at the former, acting as if he was still in charge. “Come to say goodbye, Charon?”  
  
“Yes,” without hesitation, Charon pulled out the shotgun from where it rested in the holster on his back, and gave out one shot. At such close range, the bullet ripped Ahzrukhal’s head into pieces that flew all over the walls, and part of his chest that splattered all over the floor. Around them gasps and shocked murmurings could be heard from the bar’s patrons. Still, Charon gave the dead body a second shot, either to release some of his resentment for his former employer or to make sure he was completely dead. Maybe even both. “Alright. Let’s go.”   
  
With eyes grown wide and eyebrows raised, Mel looked between him and the obliterated corpse with mouth hanging open. After a couple seconds she gestured to the body with palms facing upwards, as if asking what the hell just happened.   
  
“Ahzrukhal was an evil bastard. As long as he held my contract, I was honor bound to do as he commanded. But now you are my employer, and so for good or ill, I serve you.”   
  
_Well, shit._


	2. Chapter 2

_What have I gotten myself into?_ Mel thought quietly with an audible sigh, running her hand through her hair. In her hand she held the contract, green eyes reading the faded ink over and over. Or at least, what was visible of the contract. Even without the words, the contract held heavy in her hands as a symbol of chains, much like the Vault had become to her.

She had lain in the rented bed for most of the night, unable to sleep for quite a while. Charon remained where he was in the bar while Mel took her time to think. Considering talking while on the move wasn’t really an option for her, the only other option was just to sit down before they left to ‘talk’. With another sigh, the pip-boy reading six in the morning, she swung her legs over the bed, got dressed into a something more travel-worthy, and gathered her stuff to head to where Charon was waiting.

The ginger entered the bar, sitting at one of the tables and waved Charon over. It was quite amusing, she thought, how quickly Ahzrukhal’s corpse was removed and the surrounding area cleaned. She pulled out the contract, along with a few pieces of paper she found on her way over. Time to get this over with.  
  
_Look_ , she wrote. _This whole contract thing is stupid. Why don’t you just take it and do your own thing?_

“I can’t,” the gravelly voice spoke up. “I serve whoever holds my contract.”  
  
_Then just hold your own contract and serve yourself?_ It didn’t sound like that bad an idea. If anything, it sounded like the perfect loophole to her.   
  
“It doesn’t work like that. I can’t be without an employer.” Must have been something in the faded print about it then. Damn. Would have been a good way out of it too. Either way, she would think about a good way to get rid of the contract. For now, however, Mel would just have to do the best she can.   
  
_Then_ , she began writing, _some simple ground rules if you’re gonna be my new travel buddy. First, nights are going to be taken in shifts. Feel yourself getting tired? Switch early. I rather keep watch than be dead. Second? Keep your eyes open. I won’t be able to warn you about anything. Third? If you have anything to say, say it. Danger? Possible solutions to something? Wanna complain about how shitty the caravans are? Free range, say it._   
_  
_ He nodded, as straight-faced as ever after skimming through her long paragraph. Meanwhile, there was one more thing to clear up. _You’re a good fighter, from what I can tell. I’m not going to command much of anything from you. So I trust you to use your best judgement in a fight. Meanwhile, let’s head out. I’m practically out of caps and your armor has seen some better days._

__________

 

Even with more explosives and a fighting companion, Mel was not ready to face the herd of super mutants that loomed in the immediate area. They were only trouble, and unless you had proficiency with a gun and a lot of ammo, they were near-impossible to bring down. So instead she began travelling downwards into the metro right outside the Museum of History. Radroaches and raiders, even ferals, were so much easier to deal with than the lime-skinned barbarians.

Speaking of, upon sneaking into the metro, enemies could be heard nearby. She held a hand up beside her, signalling her companion to stop as she listened. It didn’t sound like the scuttling noise that radroaches made, nor the small grinding noise of their mandibles as they devoured decaying flesh. Instead they were the steady, soft _thump thump_ of footsteps, most likely bipedal. That really only left raiders, or ferals.

The question was answered as they quietly made their way down deeper into the metro, where the old train would run up and down the track back in its day. Instead of the low growls and rumbles of mutated zombies, there were the provoking insults and the hallucination-induced laughter of chem-addict raiders. This was good. Without any sort of brains to help them, sneaking up on them would be a breeze.

She turned to Charon with a nod, before pulling her knife out of its holster and turning the corner to take a quick look. There were maybe three on the upstairs level where they were, two on the far side and one inside the ticket-booth ruin. There were probably some downstairs as well, patrolling. As long as she could clear this level without too much attention, the raiders downstairs wouldn’t be a problem.

Mel lowered as far as she could, going as far away from the light as possible as she went to take out the one in the booth. Behind her was the gentle click of Charon readying his shotgun for battle. Good. He could take care of the two on the far side as she disposed of this one.

The raider was facing the back of the booth, taking a swig of booze straight from the aged, dusty bottle. With his backside towards the ticket window, she quietly climbed over, knife prepared. Her eyes narrowed, and when he was in arm’s reach she pounced, covering his mouth with one hand to muffle him and using the knife in the other to slice through the tender flesh in his throat, from one side to the other. With his trachea cut, he wouldn’t make a sound. With both jugular veins and carotid arteries cut, he would bleed out unaware within a minute- a peaceful kill, or as close as she could get in this day and age. She held him as still as possible to avoid thrashing for the few precious seconds before unconsciousness.

The sound of the shotgun rang out twice, and Mel held her breath, waiting to see if the others down below heard. When it seemed like everything remained quiet, she exited the ticket counter to look over the railing.

There was a raider traveling back and forth on top of a crashed metro train, looking very serious about his lookout duties. He would be an easy kill, though; between the tensing of his shoulders and the speed of his pacing he seemed to be the newbie of the group. She couldn’t see any others, but they were probably right below- raiders never traveled in packs any lighter than three. Mel looked up at Charon, waving slightly to catch his attention. She pointed at the undefended raider on the train, using finger-guns, and rushed over to the other side to get down the stairs as quickly as possible. If Charon understood her message, then anyone underneath would be ready for a fight as soon as his shotgun fired and the body fell.

Meanwhile, she would have to get her grenade out and started as soon as possible. At the bottom of the stairs she saw two more standing there, talking to each other. The pin on the grenade was pulled and was thrown as soon as Charon’s shotgun rang out. It landed at their feet, the raiders too busy grabbing for their weapons to notice the _ting_ as the metal explosive hit the floor, but they sure as hell noticed their legs being blown off. Hopefully, being such close range to the explosive made their death quick. She didn’t want to have to deal with an up-close struggle with two now-amputees.

There was a second of silence as Mel looked around and listened, trying to spot or hear anyone else in the room. Only her breathing remained. With a sigh of relief she stood up, walking over to the bloodied corpses to collect her reward. Anything that would be repaired was worth taking; their armor was crap, but taking the best pieces of them all would produce one worth a lot of caps. Same went with their non-melee weapons.

Charon met her back downstairs when she finished gathering everything she could, putting it into her pack. It was time to move on.

Yet as they walked down the ruins of the metro, keeping to the walls and quiet in case there were any more raiders or dangerous beasts, Mel couldn't stop the feeling that something was wrong. The hairs on the back of her neck stood straight, and the tingling in her spine failed to cease. Still, when she looked behind her there was nothing. And ahead were only the occasional radroaches and Ferals. What was bugging her so much?

The answer came upon reaching the chained gate that separated the ruins above from the ruins underneath. The door groaned as it was pushed open, Mel blinking at the sudden change in light. She began walking up the stairs. But in the Wasteland, nothing was easy. What waited for her and her new companion were two mercenaries, guns in hand and pointed at the ready. Their armor, tan leather with plenty of steel plating for protection, bore the white symbol of a hawk’s talon. It was _these_ guys. Great.

Mel’s fingers twitched under her overcoat towards the explosives pocket, stopping only when the click of a pistol sounded behind her head. They had been followed. That was why the ginger couldn't shake off that bad vibe.

“Heh. Look who it is. The goody-two-shoes, angel of the Wastes,” the guy behind them laughed. “You’ve been interfering with a lot of powerful people, sweetheart. You need to learn when to give up.”

Mel bristled slightly, gritting her teeth together. There was no way she could attack them without getting shot up by the trio, or blowing herself and Charon up in the process. And she knew he wouldn't attack. If he did, she, his employer as much as she refused to admit it, would be shot by one of the others.

In order to get through this, she would need some sort of magic shield or something.

Though, she thought about it, a shield wouldn't be a bad idea. She would have to act quick though. She already spent the last few second standing there, and if they were here to kill her, they wouldn't wait any longer. With a quick glance at Charon, hoping he would be able to react fast enough, Mel kicked back as hard as she could at the man behind her, aiming for the crotch. Even with armor plating, with enough pressure the man lost his stance, giving Mel the opening to duck behind him as the other two began their open fire.

Their reactions were quick, and at least one bullet grazed it's mark as Mel’s shoulder began blooming red. More blood began flowing, spraying really, as the bullets lodged themselves into the Talon Merc’s body-shield.  The sound of Charon’s shotgun rang out among the sound of pistoles. All she could do was wait until the fighting stopped as she propped up her cover.

And eventually it did end, maybe a minute later, enough for Mel to peek her head up to find the other two Talon Company Mercs fallen to the ground. One with their head in chunks against the dirt, the other with a hole ripped through her chest. Turning her head she spotted her ghoul companion, wounded and bleeding. It was surprising he didn't get more hurt, with how little cover they had.

Silently the ginger got up from her position, starting to turn back into the tunnel, signaling for him to follow. If she was going to take care of his wounds, they needed some place with at least some cover.

__________

 

_Melody was no doctor, but she did learn a couple things from her father back in the vault. Blood was the life force. A river of life. Carried everything you needed to the parts of the body and took away all the bad stuff. Without it, no one would be able to live._

_Put pressure on the wound,_ Mel remembered slightly as she searched through her back pack. It took some time to convince her companion to trust her, more so to actually get across what she was trying to do more than anything. But the wounds were cleaned up with a little of the dirty water she carried around, and the bullets seemed to have gone through him well enough. She wouldn't have to dig around and try to get them out. She'd probably just make the wounds worse, anyway. _It'll give the blood a chance to clot._

As nice as it would have been to sell, she had to rip up some of the collected armor from the raiders in order to wrap the wounds. Finally a stimpak would close up the wound until it had time to heal on its own. At least that's how she took care of her own wounds, and she wasn't dead yet.

Packing up the rest of the supplies, and silently mourning the loss of scarce income, Mel took a second to glance up. She was concerned, yes, but he was tough. Probably faced more dangers than this, considering what his contract about.

Though if she had to be honest, that was closer to Death than anything she had ever faced before. It was something she needed to be more alert about next time she walked about, lest it be her last time. Still, she had to admit that she probably wouldn't have gotten out alive if it wasn't for her new companion. She tapped his unbandaged shoulder, smiling slightly and mouthing a quick _thank you_ to him. Even if it was simply out of duty, she could still be thankful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry things are going a little slow. Just trying to practice with the characterization. Should get a little more exciting once Charon actually opens up and stops being a contract robot. >_>
> 
> Updates are probably going to be every Saturday. :D
> 
> As always, critiques, comments, plot ideas, and everything are welcome. :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a deadly encounter signals the beginning of change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! I just noticed this story had like a year hiatus on it? I am so, so sorry for the wait. BUT! I am back and writing chapters! Updates won't be fast, but they will be there.
> 
> This chapter has been not been beta'd, so please feel free to warn me of any mistakes!

_As much as her number one mission out of the vault had been to find her father, it wasn't a priority anymore. Her father had grown up in the Wastes, probably lived in it longer than she had been alive. He ran out of the vault for a reason. He could handle himself. And to be honest, she wasn't able to get information out of anyone. Didn't help that she couldn't exactly walk around and ask, or hang a sign around her neck that read “have you seen my father?” She figured that she'd eventually find evidence of him along her travels._

It was time to head back to Megaton. She just hoped the trip wouldn't be too harrowing.

 _Meanwhile her focus shifted towards survival. She found out the best way to get any sort of food was to pay, which wasn't easy for someone fresh out of the vault, or to hunt. Scars still litter her shoulders and back from unsuccessful hunts. Sometimes her blade would get dull, or she wouldn't slice deep enough, or the beast just had too much fight in them to give up and die. Not to mention that guns were crossed off the list quickly. The food tasted like copper-marinated crap, but it kept her fed._  

Before long, the giant scrap metal dome came into view, it's robot greeter cheerfully welcoming anyone nearby into its gates. The two-day trip to the small town was quiet, minus a few molerats and bloatflies. It was a fortunate turn of events.

_Soon those close combat skills were put to better uses. Raider camps fell as she managed to catch them one by one, everything worth any value picked up to be sold. But raiders traveled in packs, and those skills rapidly became impractical. Explosives became a good backup plan, she soon learned. It damaged the equipment, unfortunately, but it was better than having to try to fight two or three raiders at a time with only a simple knife._

Mel didn't enter the town, not right away. Instead she turned to the worn, dirty man sitting in the fading sunlight. He seemed to recognize her as his lips curled into a chapped smile, and his gaze softened. No words were exchanged as the ginger pulled out a bottle of purified water to hand to the man. “Thank you,” was what he said, voice wavering slightly with emotion. Mel simply smiled back before she began to head inside.

 _Something else caught her attention over time. Unwanted wanderers would sit outside of towns, begging for water with cracking voices and exhausted expressions. Slaves, left unattended by their captors, cried for help and freedom. Bodies fell onto the ground, dead before they hit, in settlements terrorized by monsters barely recognizable as human despite their humanoid form. There was so much pain. She wanted to help put an end to this._  

Mel had unloaded all of her stuff on the quirky owner of the Craterside Supply store. In return she ended with a couple more stimpaks and just short of a hundred caps, which was used to purchase food and ammo for the shotgun. She would have to go on a scavenging trip soon. Being without caps for too long is never a good idea. 

_One of her first kind acts came when she heard Sheriff Lucas Simmons talking to himself about the bomb. It was still active, apparently. Her suspicion was confirmed when she went to visit Moriarty’s Saloon, a strange man in a suit asking for her to set off the bomb. She shook her head no. She wouldn't. In fact, she'd do one better. She'd make sure no one could activate the bomb, ever._

With the sun long gone, Mel unlocked the door and walked into her metal shack with Charon behind her. The pre-war theme was a bit out of place, more of a mashing of two different worlds than anything else, but it did bring a bit of a _home_ feel in a place where home wasn't easily found. Not when everything wanted to kill you.

Anything left unsold went into their proper places around the shack. Mel reached over to the Nuka Cola machine, grabbing a cold beverage before pausing to grab a second one, motioning it towards the tall bodyguard with a raised eyebrow. When he didn't react she tossed it over his way anyway. It was a long day and any drink was better than none. Especially if it was cold.

She couldn't help but plop down on the couch with a dull thud, leaning back with eyes closed and sighing. After a moment she opened one eye to see Charon still standing, before patting the cushion beside her. He sat down.

For a while the only sound was the gentle crack as the caps were pulled off of the glass bottles and the sipping of Nuka Cola. At least for Mel, the silence was a comfortable one, despite the statuesque nature of the companion beside her. But as nice as it was, Mel would have to talk to her companion sooner or later. Which meant getting up and finding paper. Ugh. 

 _So,_ she returned again, making sure she had everything so she wouldn't have to get up again. _Despite all that, we're still low on caps. It's gonna be a while before more of those dumb-asses come in to replace all those dead raiders. Feel up to scavenging up north? Haven't been there yet._  

“Sounds like that would be a good idea,” Charon finally spoke after a nod. Mel couldn't help but burst into a smile and a soundless chuckle, quickly scribbling on the page.

 _It speaks!_ She pointed at her writing with mock-shock, mouth hanging open and both eyebrows raised. But it soon turned into upturned lips and silent laughter in response to the glare she was receiving from the ghoul beside her.

_Alright, okay. We’ll leave in a couple days time. Let's get some rest first. Take the bed. I'll see if I can put together another one for you in the spare bedroom tomorrow._

______________

 

“Wait,” Charon held out his arm to stop Mel from continuing down the broken road. Up ahead were houses, meaning either scrap to loot, or raiders to kill and then loot.

But along the broken pavement were little disks, the size of a hand, with flickering red dots upon their center. The mines blended into the dusty road effortlessly, easily missed by even the most keen of perception. As Mel looked, squinting and raising a hand to block out the midday sun, she couldn’t help but frown at the sight before her. These disks were placed every few feet from each other, zigzagging and waiting for unsuspected guests. _Guess this place wasn’t just called ‘Minefield’ for no reason. Damn it Moira._  

Instinctively she crouched, low to the ground. With so many mines, she would have to move slow, keep an eye open. If she missed, she could easily be missing a leg.

Carefully she moved forward towards the first disk, hidden conveniently beneath a long-dead branch. Her heart pounding in her ears and her breath held in, she dove to disable the mine as quick as she could. She’d be able to take them as her own, and more importantly, stop herself from hitting them on the way back. In a place like this, there was no room for mistakes.

A couple of metallic dings rang off in front of her, to the right. She looked up in time to see fire spread across the old vehicle, crackling dangerously. When nothing happened for a few seconds, she thought it safe to continue. But her companion’s arm reached out to her, holding her still. Not a question could form in her mind before the ancient machine exploded, convincing the two mines beside it to explode as well. Heat and light flashed, the earth shook. Then, after a couple seconds, the earth stood still. Her heart lept into her throat.

Two things. One, something here was worth protecting. Good news for the scavenger mechanic. Two, someone was here to protect it, and they had no intent to give it up. Not alive, anyway.

Mel released her breath, not realizing how long she had held it. She turned her head to her companion and nodded once, both in thanks and in acknowledgement of the danger. With a raised guard she moved forward, continuing to disarm the mines.

Further up the road, a second car rumbled and shook under the force of fire. The young woman barely had time to look up before the explosion occurred, sending incalescence and debris flying in all directions. She lifted her arms towards her face, letting her limbs take most of the damage. Her teeth gnashed together, but she refused to make a sound as her arms burned in the flames. Only once it stopped did she dare to look up. There, in the ruins of a tower at the end of the road, was the silhouette of a man. The glint of metal was barely visible in his hands. 

The ghoul turned his head towards his employer, assessing the damage. From the concentrated look in her eyes, he knew she saw the sniper as well, her mind running a million miles for ideas of how to deal with the situation. It was a look he quickly learned to recognize in the past week or so. It was a look that meant she was going to do something brilliantly stupid, if not kept under check. But with blood dripping down freshly scorched, shaking limbs, the close-range fighter would not be much use. And explosives were out of the question. 

Instead Charon pulled his employer aside, behind the safety of the ancient dwellings, pulling out the supplies necessary to swiftly tend to wounds that would surely fester if untreated. A bit of dirty water, a few bandages, a stimpak to accelerate the healing process, but not much more than that. He had been ordered to use minimal supplies, keep it for real emergencies.

Once tended, both parties took a breath to ponder the situation. They got what they came for- a mine for the nutty shopkeeper and a good look at the area for her ‘survival guide’. But they couldn’t leave that easily. With the small strip of archaic neighborhood fenced off and littered in hidden mines, there was only one exit. Plus the wasteland was an open field. The sniper would have an easy time picking them off, if he thought them worth the ammo. While it was possible that the sniper was just trying to defend his territory, neither Mel nor Charon were willing to risk their lives on the off-chance that the sniper would let them go.

Charon had been told to use his best judgement in a fight. Considering the circumstances, it would be much less risky to try to engage the enemy than it would be to run into the open.

He made sure his shotgun was loaded and ready to go before turning towards his employer. “It would be best if you remained here, mistress” he suggested to her, using his free reign to talk, yet in no position to give orders. From there he started on his way, keeping an eye open for any stray mines and ducking behind buildings to minimize the risk of being shot down.

Mel waited for all of a minute before getting restless, only lasting another fifty seconds before standing up and grabbing her gear. She’d be much more useful aiding in the fight than sitting here! Besides, he couldn’t control her (she made care not to think about the fact that the opposite was true, however). So she did what she had always done: ignored him in favor of her instincts. With a calming breath she turned towards the opposite side that Charon had left from, hoping to sneak up on the sniper while he was focused on her companion. Probably wrong to use him as bait, but better bait than alone.

Charon managed to get closer to the sniper, his expression not giving anything away. He had spent too much of his life fighting, in war and for his contract, to be afraid of a single sniper. Explosions, guns, the sounds of war- they were all a part of life at this point. Death was not an abstract thought; bodies fell daily, and Charon knew that he might be one of those fallen bodies one day. Without fear, and with a miniscule amount of delight at the thrill of the fight, he charged forward towards the enemy.

She looked up, right underneath the tower now. It had been much easier to approach from the edge, as most of the mines had been concentrated around the road. Above her the sniper rested on his belly on the second floor, aiming through the scope of his weapon. She crouched, making herself as small as possible, before slowly making her way up the steps of the tower’s ruins.

A yell escaped from the large ghoul as the sniper’s bullet pierced his chest, right under his right clavicle. Bastard got a lucky shot. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he raised his shotgun, giving off a few shots to try and take down the enemy from the floor above him. The two exchanged shots, the sniper holding the advantage of the higher ground and Charon keeping on the move to avoid taking another hit.

 _Shit_ , Mel cursed internally. She hadn’t expected the flying bullet war. She didn’t think Charon would get to the sniper that quickly. On the second floor, the pillar she was standing behind was imbedded with a few too many bullets than she was comfortable with. Well, that ruined her plan to attack the sniper up close, lest she be the one full of bullets. With the sounds of battle around her she paused to think. There was no way she was leaving Charon to fight this himself; he may have more experience than she did, but with the yell he gave out earlier, there was no way she could do that with a clean conscience. Running out there with her knife would get her killed. Her only other choice was to use one of the mines she deactivated from earlier.

She frowned. Mines were only really useful if a pressure set them off, and the sniper was in too much of an opportune spot to really move from his position. If she was going to use the mine, she’d have to set it off and let it fly like a grenade, giving her maybe two seconds before it would go off. That was too risky, even for her.

She could hear Charon let out another shout of pain as a bullet ripped through him. That was it. She couldn’t wait much longer. She didn’t have the time to think. Time to become bait. She turned around the pillar to face the sniper, letting out a sharp, high-pitched whistle.

The sniper turned, now distracted by the ginger only a few feet away. She waved at him, making sure she had his attention before rapidly diving behind the pillar again, trying to coerce the sniper into rising to his feet to face the more immediate target. The sniper, an old man she quickly realized, took the bait and rose to his feet in an attempt to get a shot at the girl. In his hands was a palm-sized pistol, acting as a back-up.

 _Come on_ , Mel mentally pleaded, waiting for Charon to take the shot now that the old man made himself a bigger target. She heard the shotgun go off, but it missed, hitting the pillar she stood behind and narrowly missing her head as she peeked around. She ducked back when the pistol also gave a shot, much closer to her face than she appreciated.

Charon’s window to get the shot was rapidly closing as the sniper moved farther away from the ledge and closer to where Mel rested. So she peaked out of the other side of the pillar, hoping that coming from the other side would give her some time, as she rushed forward to try to push the old man over the edge. It happened in a second; as the pistol’s bullet grazed her abdomen as she rushed towards the old man, using her entire body to push him out of the tower. The old man stumbled backwards with the sudden force that hit him, stopping when one foot was half-over the edge.

The ghoul raised his gun one more time upon seeing the sniper in range, ignoring the pain raging through his body, and fired. The man’s chest exploded, and fell forward onto the ground with a wet plop. Blood pooled below him and dribbled out of his mouth, but after a moment of struggling, he soon stilled. Death has claimed one more.

Mel stood, staring at the body for a few moments almost sadly, before heading towards the stairs to meet up with her companion. She shot him a conflicted look, made of concern, relief, and gratitude for risking his life. Though much shorter than him, she raised a hand and pressed down on his left shoulder, signaling for him to sit down.

The area was still and quiet as the two spent a few moments tending to each other’s wounds, the atmosphere calm.

______________

Knife in hand, the smaller companion creeped her way towards the last remaining raider, who was currently too panicked to notice the shadow slowly getting closer. She was almost there, blade itching to perform as she took the last few steps. But before she could claim her kill, a shotgun rang out, the raider taking the bullet right between the eyes, practically blowing his head right off of his body. Mel jumped, only to turn and frown at her companion.

She pointed angrily and the raider, and then her knife, back at the raider. This was her kill! And he stole it from her.

“You were too slow,” Charon responded almost monotone, his face giving only the slightest hint of a smirk. Mel waved her arms frustratedly. Of course she had to go slow! If she ran while she was trying to get close to the target she'd get her head blown clean off.

She huffed, pouting and making a dramatic show of turning away from her companion. If nothing else, it was to hide the small upward pull at the corner of her lips. That was the first unnecessary comment he made. The first step.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a quiet night leads to serious contemplation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to keep these updates coming!  
> So I'm taking prompts on this story. It can be scenarios, a beginning line, anything. Figured it'd be fun to see what you all want out of this story!

‘Dad?'  _the girl signed, tapping the thumb of her open hand to her forehead. Her father sat at his desk, looking at the computer screen._ ‘Do I really have to take this stupid test? _’_

_With only a few short questions, the G.O.A.T would decide the rest of her life in the Vault. She could be a mechanic like she always wanted to, able to discover how the Vault was put together screw by screw. Or she could end up a garbage burner, the scent of flaming rubbish to be stuck in her nostrils for the rest of her born life. There were no take-backs, no redos._

_“Melody. You’re fine and you know it,” her dad stopped in favor of turning towards the girl. His voice was gentle, and held slight amusement towards her antics. “You’re a perfectly healthy sixteen year old.”_  
_  
_ _A reluctant sigh escaped from the girl. She stood there for another moment in thought, not ready to leave the door of the clinic, not ready to face fate. The artificial light flickered once or twice, unnoticeable to the dwellers who have never known any other luminance. The metal walls loomed around them like a cage, creaking from age. Her world suddenly felt too small. ‘_ Dad? Is it true everyone dies in the Vault? Can’t we ever leave?’

_He shook his head. “That’s not the way it works. And it won’t do to go around asking questions like that. Especially to the Overseer.”_

_‘_ There has to be more out there... _’ she looked at him, pleading, as if there was another way out. ‘_ More than just us... _’ More than these metal walls, these too-dim lights, the stale food and the repetition of it all. More than just the same twenty or thirty residents that she had known for sixteen years of her life._

_He rested a hand on her shoulder, his voice calming in an attempt to sooth his daughter’s disappointment. “I want to tell you something now. It’s important, so listen closely.” He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “This place, this Vault... it’s not perfect, I know. But it’s your home. You’re safe here. Stay on the Overseer’s good side and you always will be. You understand? You need to appreciate all that you have._

_“Because what’s up there, on the outside, that’s not the life I want for you. It’s not the life your mother wanted for you, either.”_

______________

 

Quiet. Silence. A rarity in a place such as this. The wind whispered softly among the desert rock and sands of the radioactive wasteland. The stars above shone with a brilliance that no one had seen since civilization ended in the fire and flames. At least she imagined such, with a cutthroat world such as this. The Vault never had stars, never had a sun, never had a moon. Its cool metal walls had nothing on the real world.

Mel looked out the cracked window of the small, decaying, one-room shack she and her companion managed to find. Her eyes couldn’t help but observe the ocean of blacks, blues, and purples above her, peppered with the white lights decorating the sky, a small smile tugging at the edges of her lips. They were lucky this time. The land was an open range at the northern end of the Capital Wasteland. Only a couple of tall hills and bulky boulders offered any kind of shelter; few buildings survived intact. Not to mention that enemies were much more common in the north, from vicious dogs to radscorpions to the deathclaws themselves. To find some sort of shelter, no matter how decayed it was, without raiders or other grotesque creatures inside was nothing short of a miracle.

Maybe there was a God like her father believed. Maybe there wasn’t. Either way, she couldn’t help but send a silent thanks to whoever was taking care of them tonight.

A silent, wistful sigh escaped her lips. For all of his flaws, she did miss her father dearly. She had been out here for a while now, in this big, wide world, searching for any sign of him. But no one had seen him or cared enough to help her. She did what she could, listening for any signs of rumors, of strangers, of other wanderers coming out of Vault 101. So far everything led to a dead end. As frustrated as she was, however, she could never give up hope. She could feel it in her soul that her father was still alive, and she wouldn’t stop believing it until she saw his corpse with her own eyes. This was a big world. There were still places to look.

Slowly she turned her head, reluctant to tear her gaze away from the sky that she would surely never grow tired of. On the other side of the small room, only a couple feet away, sat her companion, Charon. She watched as he took stock of supplies and worked on repairing his weapon, either unaware or ignoring the pain from his wounds. The bandages around his torso were still stained in stale blood. Mel herself winced as she thought of her own wound, a few bullets that had grazed her right side.

This morning had been rough on the both of them. Neither had slept the night before, not able to find proper shelter in the open wasteland and too far from a town to pause their journey. A raider party of three managed to catch them unawares in the day, leaving them both with a few holes and battered limbs. Treatment on their wounds was minimal, as they couldn’t stay in the open for too long. They had to continue on.

Her thoughts returned to her current companion.

If she could call him anything to define him, she would call him a word. A word is simple; everyone can hear a word, everyone can understand a word. Much like a word, he was easy to describe. He was stubborn, refused to back down from a challenge. He was competent, especially with a weapon. He was strong, willful, and wise solely from the experiences that this world had put him through. But a word is also one of the most complicated things in the world. A word can have many meanings, changing depending on the words around them, even with the tone of voice that one uses. Also like a word, Charon was never his own person. His being is manipulated by the environment around him. His will twists and turns and changes meaning depending on how the one in charge uses him. Like how the words in his contract changed his meaning. Like how Ahzrukhal turned him into a malicious word.

In that way, she wished he wasn’t a word.

When she was in the Vault, she always wanted to explore. By the time she was five, she had grown bored of the walls around her; she focused her efforts into exploring forbidden access areas, as if they were a mysterious land that needed to be conquered. By seven she was reading every book the Vault offered, dreaming of the sky, of the sun, of anything other than those sterile metal walls. She remembered her father teasing her, telling her that she could never be tamed, never be contained. That’s why she could never regret the day she was exiled. That’s why, if given a choice, she’d choose to leave anyway.

And that’s why she can never understand her companion. She saw in him what she saw in the Vault, a cage, and bought his contract in an attempt to let him free. She had yearned freedom more than anything. Every living creature yearns freedom, in one way or another. It is something that is craved, fought for, killed for, and lived for. But Charon... he either didn’t understand or care what freedom was.

“You’re staring,” his voice broke through her thoughts, calm and straight to the point. She blinked a couple times, bringing her back to the real world. So she was. She hadn’t even noticed.

Mel paused to look out the window one last time. Trying to memorize the stars. She didn’t know when her last night would be, when the sky would disappear, so she took in as much as she could. Eventually she took the knife out of her coat pocket and scooted over to sit beside her companion. She began to fiddle with it, looking like she wanted to say something, but obviously couldn't.

The two sat in an awkward silence for awhile, not saying anything but leaving everything to be said. Eventually she leaned over, carving words into the dirty floor.

 _We’re strangers_ , she wrote small, neat, and practiced handwriting. _We don’t know about each other._

Mel turned to look at him, as if expecting him to say anything. But he simply made a small noise of acknowledgement to her statement, almost in agreement. He never spoke much, she observed. Then again, he probably never needed to. Not in his line of work.

 _So who are you?_ She questioned, waiting for him to answer.

“What do you mean?” He asked after a moment, trying to decipher her question.

She pointed at the phrase again, as if trying to emphasize her words, before writing more. _What makes you, you?_

The silence came back very quickly, more forceful than before. Before long Mel was left questioning whether or not she had crossed sort of line, some boundary, that she shouldn't of. Her worry was somewhat reinforced when his response finally appeared, gruff be somewhat distrusting. “Why do you want to know?”

She simply pointed at her first statement. They were strangers. They had traveled together, fought together, and tended to each other. But they knew nothing of each other. If Mel had a companion, she wanted someone who could be a friend, not someone bound to her by ink and paper.

After a second, she tapped her head with her pointer finger and a small smile, signaling she had an idea. Hopefully it would break this silence. _Question for a question. I ask you..._ she drew a double ended arrow under the “I” and the “you”, signaling ... _and you ask me._

She raised an eyebrow, as if asking if that was acceptable. He thought about it for a short moment before nodding. At least this way the questioning would feel much less one sided.

She waved her hand towards him, palm up, gesturing for him to begin. He might as well have the first question after all.

Charon took a moment to think. “So you can't speak?”

Mel shook her head to answer his obvious question. However, she did bring the tip of her knife to the ground, deciding to answer the question she assumed he was looking for.

 _I write,_ she responded, waiting a moment before continuing. _But in the Vault, symbols = words. Used my hands._

“So you make words with your hands.” A little bit of amusement- was it?- could be heard in his voice. Once again she nodded.

 _Easier than this,_ she couldn't help but comment _,_ gesturing to the many marks she made with the tip of her knife. _But no one here knows it. So, favorite color?_  
  
“My favorite color?” That swiftly caught him off guard, not that his face would give that away. It was not a question he was expecting, nor was it one he ever thought about. More importantly, he was not quite sure how to answer it. It wasn’t important in a world like this. Before long his employer shrugged, bringing the tip of the knife downward.

_I'll let you think about it._

“So. Why did you leave the Vault?” He asked in the meantime.

Mel paused, seriously thinking about how to put everything into words. _It was safe_ , she began, _but it was stale. Same people, same walls, same day for 22 years. And the Overseer was a bitch. I wanted to make my own decisions. Even if it killed me._

Her companion read the paragraph with a blank expression, as if processing what she had said. It was possible that he didn't care, but she figured he wouldn't have asked if that was really the case.

_My turn. You're pre-war, right? What was your favorite season? Y’know, before it was all dirt and radiation._

“That's two questions,” Charon replied, almost jokingly, to which his employer simply shrugged. “Spring. Before, I hated it. There were so many pests and the pollen was everywhere. But now I miss it.” After a small pause, his eyes glazed over as if he was trying to remember, he continued. “So what kind of questions are these anyway?”

 _I just want to know. It's not like I could ask anyone._ Mel offered with a simple shrug. _Okay. So. Is it true that trees changed color in the fall? Because we learned that in the school and honestly that sounds like bullshit._

If the ghoul was caught off guard before, now he couldn't stop from letting an amused _hmph_ escape. Not quite laughter, but still something. Mel’s lips tugged upward in victory. “Yes. Most of the trees would change colors. Reds and golds.”

Mel paused, trying and failing to hold back a smile as she underlined her previous sentence. _Honestly that sounds like bullshit._

“Okay then, don't believe me.” He looked slightly more relaxed now. The silence between the two was no longer harsh, no longer begging to be broken. Mel turned to look back out the window, beyond the horizon and to the stars. Those minuscule lights were so alluring, acting as a guide in the darkness. They were close enough to reach out for, but billions of miles too far to touch. They were time travelers, those lights nothing but the ghost of stars possibly millions of years dead.

“You're different,” the ghoul spoke up eventually, speaking softly as if afraid to shatter the silence. Mel tore her eyes away from the sky to look at her companion. He continued with only the slightest of pauses. “So, why my contract?”

 _I wanted you to be free,_ Mel failed to hesitate, tip of the knife at work not a moment after the question left his mouth. _I was willing to give everything to be my own person. So I figured you’d want the same._

He didn’t respond, instead turning his gaze to the outside. His face had become unreadable. It was simply too bad, Mel thought as she watched him, that he couldn’t have the same. That paper bound his will like chains around his soul. But if he seemed to care, it didn’t show. It never seemed to have bothered him. Or maybe he had been a captive for so long, he didn’t remember what it was like to be free of those wretched chains. Inside, she could feel her heart squeeze painfully, afraid to imagine such a state. To have accepted your circumstance as fate so long ago...

She had thought about it, asking him if he would tell her about his past. She urged to ask about the reason he was given such heavy chains. But not now. The silence, albeit calm, was too fragile to handle the weight of such words. She wasn’t sure if his trust in her was strong enough, either.

Slowly she reached out to put a hand on her companion’s shoulder, letting him break out of his mind. _Looked like you were somewhere you didn’t want to be,_ she wrote, offering a reassuring smile. _My turn again. Y’know, writing is rather tiresome. And slow. Maybe I could teach you sign?_

“Do you wish for me to learn it?”  
  
_If you’re willing._

She turned away from the marks in the ground to look at him, emerald eyes searching milky white ones with hope and a little bit of anticipation. They sparked in the same way that they did when she started tinkering with robotics, or when she was mentally dissecting a perplexing puzzle. Charon nodded towards his associate.  
  
“As you wish.”


End file.
